Annalise

Chapter 22: How The Great Have Fallen

He smiled complacently, both sides of his lips curving up mischievously. The light in his green eyes blinded me to his motives, what he was masking.

I peeped over to the side, briefly observing Ricky.

"He isn't listening, bellissimo," Noah's friend stated, studying the worry tackling my expression.

"Bellissimo?" I questioned, my brows pulling together in curiosity.

A huge grin broke out from his face. "Good pronunciation. Do you want to know or not?" He asked, cutting straight to the point, losing his sly smirks and too-playful grins.

Of course, I wanted to know. The question of Ricky and Noah's conflicts always intrigued me.

It was clear that they disliked each other, but why?

"Yes, please," I nodded my head, not missing the slight quirk in his lips as I uttered the words.

"Well, haven't you ever questioned what kind of business Noah's dad was into? How he managed to get millions of dollars. Haven't you questioned why Ricky's parents would let their young child be a gang leader at the age of 18?"

I shook my head from side to side, a silent no. Those types of questions never popped up in my mind, but at this point, I figured it was significant in the hatred they have for each other.

"Noah's dad was a gang leader, Ricky's dad too," he informed me, his eyes losing its devious glint.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my eyes inspecting his features for any signs of deceit. There was none, he was speaking the truth.

Maybe that's why people never discussed Giuseppe Esposito's business, only calling him a businessman and leaving it at that.

"But it isn't what you think. Giuseppe and Enrique weren't rivals the way Ricky and Noah are, they were like brothers, like blood," he utters impassively, as if he's reciting a boring text.

What? How can two gang leaders, with two different gangs, ever be so close?

"Although, some would have a hard time believing that."

Before he could continue, I cut in, "Enrique being Ricky's father?" I asked, trying to clarify before he went on.

He shook his head up and down, cracking his knuckles on top of his desk.

"How could their fathers get along so well but they can't?" I pondered out loud, gently tugging at my ear.

"This is where things get much more entertaining," he smiles wickedly. "Their fathers were the gang leaders of one gang, they both worked hand in hand, rising in power."

He didn't hesitate to continue as I struggled to process this all. "It was strange to see two different races merge together to form a gang. Giuseppe, an Italian man. Enrique, a Puerto Rican man."

He leaned forward, dangerously close to invading my personal bubble. I inched away in my chair, in an attempt to create distance between his face and mine.

"Bashers is what they were called. There's always a meaning in names, bashers meant a harsh opponent, indeed they were. No other gangs dared to cross their path, to interact with them, except for one brave, yet stupid soul," he sighed, a hint of admiration for the person who would fight with a big force.